Skuru slid a paw down beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers digging smoothly through the curls of soft, thick pubic fur there. The warmth of the day had spread in all around him; he halfway lifted one leg up and out of the way, feeling the way his balls peeled away from the slightly sweat-slickened fur of his inner thigh, then slid that paw into the freed space to scoop underneath – and had to dig down a little bit further, and then further, for the way they sagged down to nearly cover his tailhole where he sat.

Only half paying attention to the video he had brought up on the TV, the collie lifted that leg up and braced his footpaw on the table in front of the sofa. He cupped his balls within his paw, rolling the warm heft back and forth within his fingers; the soft, sweat-dampened fur slipping across his fingerpads, the shape and sensation of the slight squeeze, the constant slow shift and sag… so, naturally, he twisted his body a little further, angled his paw, and then wrapped his thumb, his forefinger, a second, a third, around the span of skin between his balls and his body.

And there he pulled, gently at first but then stronger, tugging his sack out and away from himself up that raised leg of his pants. His tail wagged against the cushions beneath him; he bit his lip and swallowed, then shifted so that he could finagle his sweatpants off his body with his other paw. He pushed them only down towards his knees, then used that leverage to again tug at his sack – which now pulled at the base of his sheath as well, the plump, thick supple skin tugging downwards, pulling along the surface of his shaft nestled inside… and then, with a faintly audible slp, parting open and sliding back.

Already Skuru had lifted his muzzle up and forward, sniffing at the air, waiting for the inevitable burst of scent which then, finally, hit him. High and rich, rounded and warm, dense, intense, even just that slight pinpoint of pale reddish-pink protruding from the folded lip of his sheath, glistening with constant slick wetness, seemed to steam.

The dog licked his lips and leaned in a little closer, nose twitching as he sniffed. Bit by bit his own musk filled his nose, his head, his throat, his lungs; still tugging his balls with one paw, he shifted the other to slip his sheath back a little further, and couldn’t help but raise his lower body with the sensation. Less of a spice than it was a funk, smooth yet sharp, intoxicating; he knew that already this scent would linger on his fingers for at least the next few hours, just as it would in his bellyfur there where his slowly growing length rested, natural wet slickness smearing across him, matting down his fur.

Of course he had showered this morning after getting out of bed, but as always, had foregone washing this part of him. Just as he had for the previous day, and the day before that, and the day before that, almost literally as long as he could remember: he loved climbing into bed after a long day and peeling his sheath back with both paws, letting his own scent drip across his fingers and fur, allowing it to fill the space beneath the bedsheets so he could then slip down and take a deep, heavy whiff of his own stink.

He had never quite managed to finish just from huffing himself, but sure as hell had gotten close. The dog squirmed where he now half-sat, half-lay along the couch, swapping his paw from his balls to his sheath, and then from his sheath to his nose – where slime-slickened fur smeared across the surface of his nose, immediately tainting his breath with a richness of scent as if he had just nuzzled right up against the underside of his own sheath. This sent a sweet, indulgent shiver vibrating through his body, and once again he thrust upward into the air, cock reflexively growing a little further, sliding free from warm, dank wet skin to smear across his belly, and then twitch, and twitch, and throb… and throb again, the first squirt of loose, watery pre jetting up and across his chest.

Another burst of scent puffed up and out across him, this time the inimitable aroma of wet dog mixing with the higher, richer odor of unwashed sheath. Skuru leaned back, a sigh sizzling out between parted lips; finally he let go of his sack, thrust again when his balls flopped down to once again sag across his tailhole, and angled his aim up a bit, deliberately coating himself in those ongoing squirts, picking up in frequency and intensity the more he worked himself up. Even the feeling of his shaft pushing out from his sheath circled back in to engage him further, each reflexive air-thrust leading right in to another, hard cock bouncing up into the air, holding there, shooting another squirt out across his already soaked shirt, then resting back down across his lower belly.

A low whine vibrated in his throat, desire mixing with need, enjoyment and indulgence and delight. Skuru pushed both of his footpaws against the edge of the table in front of him, using that leverage to lift his lower body up closer to his muzzle, nostrils flaring, deep huffs rippling the air. The greasy coating of liquid musk left along his fingerpads loosened his grip on his own thighs, forcing him to have to readjust and squeeze again and again, until he had managed to wipe all of that off on his own fur; already he felt patches that had begun to dry in the air of the living room, bits of his fur crusting together, the slick slimy meat of his now fully hard shaft, knot starting to pulse within the loose folds of his sheath, glistening in the light from overhead.

Holding himself there the dog gritted his teeth, relaxed, and just panted for a moment, basking in the dank thickness of his own aroma swirling in the air around him, like the steam wafting up from a swamp, or caught beneath the lid of a bubbling pot on the stove. Even without deliberately squeezing, his cock still bounced and twitched across his belly, rising up with both the beat of his pulse, b-bump, b-bump, as well as with those ongoing, irresistible squirts jetting out across his soaked shirt and fur. Skuru stretched one leg out a bit further and then wiped his paw through the growing puddle, at once mashing it in deeper, smearing it across his pads, brushing it further down across himself…

...and then finally closed that slickened, warmed paw around his length to lift it up and away from his body again. Having put off washing for so long meant that the interior of his sheath just continually simmered and stirred within its own slime, so that foggy ropes of it stretched out between the meat of his shaft and lip of his sheath. These stretched, pulled, and broke as he stroked, more of them reaching down to where his cock had rested across his belly; all Skuru needed to do was sniff at the air with each movement, the dancing steam of scent growing thicker and thicker.

His knot had not quite slipped free from the sticky, squelching meat of his sheath, and as such he pushed that paw down further, bunched the supple skin up between his fingers, and squeezed it down in place, intentionally keeping the firm mass of sensitive meat encased within. Again and again he pulsed and throbbed, his length bulging out with the growing tension, veins deepening, color flushing, scent sharpening.

Again Skuru reached down to cup his balls in his other paw, now rolling them back and forth, squeezing gently, but then once again tugging downwards, pulling against where he kept the skin of his sheath in place before the bulge of his sheath; then he released this tension and squeezed at that sheath instead, then tugged his sack once more, then back and forth, back and forth, the sensation of slimy inner folds of skin slurping across the root of his knot making his toes curl and tail wag. He thought he could feel a caught bubble of air down in there too, squelching and rippling in place; the dog slid his thumb around to find that spot, poked at it, squeezed… shivered again.

He spread his legs apart and thrust up into the air as he half-stroked, more massaging his knot within his sheath now than anything, the growing bulge more than he could encompass with his paw. That expanding width meant that he had to tighten his fingers at his rim, the frothy, foggy bubbles of captured pre, the natural slime of his sheath, and loose drooling pre trickling out from the rim and soaking into his fur there, the matted, crusty white tinting to a slight discoloration.

He liked letting it soak all the way into his fur and dry there, so that when he took his daily shower the next morning it all rehydrated and sloughed off of him, often filling the small space with the steam of his own scent all over again – but then the issue was continuing to get clean while enduring that, without letting himself slip out of his sheath and wipe clean the source of the scent. Pressure and urgency starting to build up, Skuru once again swapped paws, folded the dangling strand of goo over his fingers, and then clamped that paw in around his muzzle to huff deeply from the transferred scent, so thick he could feel it coating the insides of his lungs.

His squeezing became less rhythmic and more fervent and reckless, dragging the base of his sheath up across his growing knot, bunching it in place there, and then letting it slip back to its natural position, balls bouncing with each tug as he did so. By now the dog just could not resist lifting his hips up into the motion, quick, unsteady, needy; he kept his hard shaft angled upwards along the back of his thumb, running the slimy, smeared pad back and forth, imagining that he could feel himself pushing through the thick coating of built-up grease, almost scraping it off into a paste that he could then wipe off somewhere else-

And again he swapped paws, this time bringing that thumb right to his nose to do precisely this, his knot having swollen enough by now that it remained locked behind the lip of his sheath. Skuru gasped, grunted, and thrust upward, still massaging the skin stretched to its limit around that bulge; he wiped his slimy thumb across one nostril and then the other, curled his lip up to push the scent even closer, drew a deep, full breath of it, held it, then inhaled again – and finally bucked, and bucked again, and kicked at the table so that it jittered in place, and braced both footpaws against the edge of it while he lifted up into the air, the first spurts of his finish shooting nearly straight upwards. The wetness of his load sprayed back down across him, then just continued from there; he made sure to run his paw back and forth across himself and palmed over his squirting tip, redirecting the juice down to his shaft to thoroughly wipe it across.

The scent in the air quickly shifted from the sharp, heavy musk of the inside of his sheath, to the fuller, softer tone of his load; Skuru sighed with sweet relief and indulgence and then settled back, once again letting his shaft drop down to his belly, still twitching, pulsing, spurting with the remnant jets. He licked his lips, swallowed… tasted the distinct salty bite of pre mixed with cum, then again curled his lip to take a breath of what he had smeared across his nose.

And since I’ve already taken my shower today… He squirmed a little bit, stretched his legs out, then reached for the remote – and had to grab it two more times for how it just slipped out of his slimy, slippery grasp. I won’t need another. I’ll just wait for all this to dry…